The Red wolf conspiracy

The Wolf-Scar Oath

6 Teala 941

The olive-green mountains of Simja rose in the west. Already the sea was festooned with sails: ten, no, eleven men-of-war, sporting flags of Arqual and Ibithraйd and Talturi, racing like the Chathrand toward the city between two empires. Thasha's marriage would be well attended, if it happened at all.

The Shaggat Ness was lowered through the tonnage hatch and chained to a bulkhead. Arunis screamed for the king to be put in his own cabin-but no one wanted the sorcerer left alone with the Nil-stone. Drellarek set a day-and-night guard on the statue, and a more discreet watch on Arunis himself.

Farther aft, Hercуl stood guard as well: just inside the closed door of the stateroom.

"You will have to shut that book at some point, Thasha," he said.

Thasha, her neck wrapped in a cotton bandage, looked up at him and smiled. She closed the Polylex. "I was reading about the Mzithrini diet. It says they eat beetles fried in sesame oil."

"Nonsense!" said Eberzam Isiq. "And what does it matter to you?"

"I have to go through with it, Prahba," she said quietly.

"No you don't!" shouted half a dozen voices at once.

"Shame on you, Thasha," said Neeps. "Haven't we promised to get you out of this?"

"Arunis will kill me," she said. "I'm only alive because he needs me to marry."

"He makes mistakes," said Pazel. "Ramachni's already fooled him once."

All eyes turned to the little mage. He was crouched beneath the dining table, beside a basket where Felthrup lay asleep, looking very frail. Ramachni did not look quite right either. Something was gone from the sheen of his fur, the glitter of those wonderful eyes. He looked up from his patient.

"Felthrup bleeds beneath his skin," he said. "I have put him in the healing-sleep, but that may only be a gentler way for him to die. I cannot tell: either he will wake, and live-or never wake at all. But there is another who needs our attention, Hercуl."

He gazed over his shoulder. On the bench under the gallery windows stood Niriviel, Sandor Ott's falcon. A black hood covered his head, and his leg was tied by a leather strap to a hook on the windowsill.

Hercуl and Ramachni approached him, and the Tholjassan removed the hood. Ramachni leaped to the bench.

"Will you speak to us now?" he asked.

"I will," said the bird in a voice like tearing canvas. "But what are you going to do to me?"

"Nothing whatsoever," said Ramachni. "We are not your judges."

The bird cocked an eye at Hercуl, suspicious. "You hate my master," he accused.

"Never," said Hercуl. "Remember that he was once mine as well. But I have outgrown him, Niriviel. Oh, not in skill at arms-that I hope will never be tested. My heart has outgrown him, outgrown the cage in which Ott prefers all hearts to dwell. The cage he cannot live without: I mean love of Arqual."

"That is no cage!" shrieked the bird suddenly, flapping his wings. "Arqual is the hope of all people! It brings safety, riches, order, peace! It is our mother and father! Arqual is the glory of this world!"

"But Arqual is not the world," said Ramachni. "Alifros is vast, and many of her people love their homelands as deeply as you do yours."

"One day they will all be Arqualis," said the falcon. "And you traitors. You shall go to Licherog and break stones."

"When I watched you from the gardens of the Lorg," said Thasha, approaching, "I used to think you were the freest soul in Alifros. But I was wrong. I don't think you know what freedom is."

"Remove this strap from my leg and I will show you what freedom is."

"That is what I hope for," said Ramachni.

He put his teeth to the leather strap, and in four bites chewed it through. Hercуl, meanwhile, raised a window. Instantly the bird leaped to the windowsill. He leaned forward, wings lifting-

— and drew back. His sharp eyes darted here and there in amazement.

"You release me! Why?"

"Because we do not enslave," said Ramachni. "And you should ponder the form of slavery to which you are accustomed. Those bonds only you can break."

The bird fidgeted on the sill, one eye trained on Ramachni. "You're a mage," he said at last, "but not so very wise."

Thus speaking he dropped from the window, shrieked once and was gone.

"A child," said Ramachni, his voice heavy with sorrow. "I would hazard that he was Ott's creature long before his waking, and took the spymaster's faith and cause as his own from the first hour. A terrifying process, waking: some do not survive it with their minds intact. Others need a God or cause or enemy to anchor them, for above all they fear choice, that great abyss."

"Ramachni," said Hercуl. "There is an abyss before you as well."

"I haven't forgotten that," laughed the mage. "Trust me, I feel it in every hair."

"Feel what?" asked Thasha.

"The need for a healing-sleep of my own," said Ramachni. "My fight with Arunis occurred in more realms than those visible to the eye. The match was close, and it has cost me. My time here is almost spent."

"Spent?" cried Neeps. "What are you talking about? You can't go anywhere! We need you here!"

"If I do not go while I have the strength to walk away, Mr. Undrabust, I shall still depart-by burning out like a candle."

"But this is a disaster!" said Neeps. "Arunis isn't defeated yet, and Ott's still out there somewhere, and Thasha's getting married tomorrow! And what about Pazel? If he says the wrong word at the wrong time, maybe he'll blow Simja to the moon!"

"When will you come back, Ramachni?" asked Pazel.

"Not for a long time."

The news hung like a raincloud over the room. At last Neeps broke the silence.

"We're sunk."

"Undrabust!" said Eberzam Isiq. "In the navy you'd be flogged for throwing that word around! Here, what's that on your wrist?"

Neeps looked startled. Then he held out his arm. On his wrist was a small red scar. "Look close, it's the strangest thing," he said. "A bit of iron from the Red Wolf struck me, while it was still hot as Pitfire. But it's not just any burn. It's wolf-shaped!"

So it was: a perfect, unmistakable wolf, scarred deep into his wrist.

"And matters are stranger than you know," said Hercуl. With that he lifted a corner of his shirt. Burned into the flesh just below his rib cage was the dark outline of a wolf. "They are identical. And see, a forepaw raised, exactly like the Red Wolf."

"Anyone else?" said Neeps. "I say-Pazel!"

He was holding out his left hand; the others crowded round. The burn on his palm was deeper than the other two. It had blistered, and bled a little at the edges. "It's a wolf all right," he said. "And it's as hard as leather. But I have no idea what it means."

"It means you are in the grip of a spell," said Ramachni. "But not an evil one, I think."

"Well that's just blary perfect," said Pazel. He wanted no more to do with spells, evil or benign. Then he looked at Thasha, and saw dejection on her face.

"You weren't burned by the iron, were you?"

Thasha shook her head. "Got lucky, I'm happy to say."

She sounded anything but happy. Pazel didn't know what to say, or what to think. He caught Neeps' eye; his friend looked as troubled as Pazel felt.

"Anyway," Thasha said with a forced smile, "I'll always have this."

She held up the hand she had mutilated years ago, with the rose stem at the Lorg. The others stopped what they were doing and looked at it. Or rather stared. Presently Thasha turned her palm over and looked herself.

The scar was transformed. Nothing had changed on the back of her hand, where she had stabbed herself. But the mark on her palm had become a wolf-the wolf, unmistakably the same.

"What's happening?" whispered Thasha. "Ramachni, did you…?"

"I have not interfered. Nor would I presume to do so, without great cause, when a spell has been laid down with such care."

"Laid down by whom?" asked Pazel.

"A spirit dwelled in the Red Wolf," said Ramachni. "You heard the howl when its shape succumbed to fire. But whose spirit? I cannot tell you, but you would do well to find out."

Thasha was still looking at her scar, old and new at once. "I think I know," she said at last. "I think her name was Erithusmй."

Ramachni looked at her curiously: not quite surprised, but very intrigued. "Erithusmй," he said. "The greatest mage to draw breath since the time of the Worldstorm. How did that notion come to you, child?"

"I don't know. The Mother Prohibitor told me part of her story, and I've been searching the Polylex for the rest ever since. Impossible book! I still haven't found a word about her. But I'm sure she's part of this, Ramachni. As sure as if she'd walked up and told me herself."

Hercуl lifted Thasha's hand and looked thoughtfully at the altered scar. "I do not know what the thirteenth edition has to say about Erithusmй," he said, "but I can tell you what I know of her. We Tholjassans live alongside the Mzithrin; we know their legends better than most. And as part of my training for the Secret Fist I took an interest in the lore of the Pentarchy. Her seers of old knew what Arunis forgot: that the Nilstone is no one's tool for long. And since it cannot be destroyed, the world must be protected from it by every possible means.

"We know that Erithusmй tried to force it upon Eplendrus the Glacier-Worm, the beast at the heart of the Tzular Mountains in the uttermost north. And we know she failed: the stone drove Eplendrus mad, so that he thrashed himself to death among the bones of his ancestors. And we know that the wizardess repented then, and came back for the Nilstone, and bore it south instead of north, into the boundless Nelluroq. Once again she tried to put it out of reach. And once again she failed.

"She made a last attempt to hide the stone. No tales reveal how, or where; this was the great secret of her life. We know now, of course: she bound it in a dragon's-egg shot, and then within the Red Wolf. The old tales always held that its redness came from the blood of a living being. Thasha is right, I believe: that blood was Erithusmй's own. And I think now that she hoped not merely to hide the Nilstone, but to ensure that anyone who tried to use it again would have a fight on their hands."

"A fight with us," said Pazel.

"As it happens," said Hercуl with a nod. "For a thousand years the spirit in the Wolf kept the Nilstone safe. It inspired the Mzithrin Kings to build a citadel about it, a forbidden place of silence and forgetting. But not everyone forgot. The Shaggat laid siege to that citadel and bore the Wolf away. And perhaps it was the guardian spirit that lured his ship to its doom on the Haunted Coast, and coaxed the sea-murths to find a new hiding place for the Wolf.

"All guesses, of course. But on this last point I would stake my life: when the Red Wolf was destroyed, the spirit's last act was to mark us, that we might find one another, and join forces."

"But what if there are more of us?" said Pazel. "The iron ran everywhere. There's bits burned into planks, and stuck to rails, ropes, and people's shoes. It even spilled down the tonnage hatch. Don't we need to know who else is wearing a wolf scar?"

"Yes," said Ramachni. "There may well be more allies than we suppose. And let me warn you at once not to trust appearances."

"Never!" said Eberzam Isiq forcefully. "Or never again, I should say."

"You take but half my meaning, Excellency," said the mage. "We gave our trust to some in error, that is true. But in this fight it would be just as costly to overlook a friend, however strange or suspect he may appear. More costly, perhaps: I fear we shall need every aid imaginable before the end."

"Lady Oggosk is no friend of Arunis," said Thasha. "I still don't know if she's on our side or not, but back in Ormael she spoke a kind of password from the Lorg-or at least from the Mother Prohibitor."

"The old women of the Lorg have their hands in far more than the affairs of one school," said Hercуl. "I have known some who believed they controlled the destinies of nations. But they guard their secrets like the rarest jewels, and I fear in truth they serve themselves alone."

"How are we supposed to find these allies, whoever they are?" asked Neeps. "And for that matter, how will we know we've found them all? We don't know how many people we're talking about."

They looked at one another, and no one said a word. Then Thasha turned and walked back to her book.

"Erithusmй's people were Mzithrinis, right?" she asked.

"In all but name," said Hercуl. "The Nohirini, they were called, from the high country west of the Jomm."

"Well then, listen to what my Polylex says under Mzithrin Kings: Superstitions." Thasha flipped from bookmark to bookmark, scanning the diaphanous paper. At last, finding the spot, she read aloud: "Good omens mean everything to a Mzithrini. He has dozens of holy days, scores of lucky charms and symbols. But his beliefs have room for one and only one lucky number: seven. Traditional houses have seven windows, seven lamps lit at nightfall, seven cats. Nothing important is begun except on the month's seventh day. This belief is as old as the hills, or older."

"The book is accurate," said Isiq. "The Mzithrinis were adamant that the wedding-and the Great Peace-occur in Teala: on the seventh day of the seventh month, in fact."

"You see?" said Thasha. "I'd bet anything there are seven people aboard with wolf scars."

"And we are just four," said Hercуl.

"Make that five."

Everyone jumped. Eberzam Isiq gasped aloud. Standing openly upon the bearskin rug was an ixchel woman.

"My scar is upon my breast," she said. "I will show it to Lady Thasha if you like."

The two adults were speechless. Hercуl's eyes locked on the figure, and he crouched into the posture of icy stillness from which he could spring like a cat. Isiq looked around for something to throw. But Thasha and the boys rushed to her in delight, and Ramachni followed them.

"Diadrelu Tammariken," said the mage. "What an honor to meet you at last."

Even after this gesture it took the men some time to reconcile themselves to the idea that they were aboard-had been aboard for months-a ship full of "crawlies." Yet eventually they found themselves all seated together, sipping tea from the samovar. Dri sat cross-legged in Felthrup's basket, stroking his fur.

"She was the one who saved you, really," said Pazel to Hercуl. "She shot Zirfet in the ankle. Otherwise you'd have gone over the edge whether Arunis liked it or not."

"In my heart I suspected it," said Hercуl, whose eyes had never left Diadrelu. "Who else but an ixchel attacks so silently? But never have I heard of your people doing a kindness to our own."

"Then you've not heard enough," said Dri.

"Who has?" said Ramachni. "Such a strange world, Alifros. Why are good deeds forgotten, and the fires of revenge stoked year after year?"

"No one ever forgets a burn," said Hercуl.

"Alas, no," said Ramachni. "But you are wise enough not to live for its memory."

"You did not board Chathrand to fight the Shaggat conspiracy," said Hercуl. "Why are you here?"

"Of that I am not permitted to speak," said Diadrelu.

"And we are merely to trust you?"

"Come, Hercуl!" said Ramachni. "You are addressing the Lady Diadrelu. She is no trickster but the queen of an honorable people."

"In fact I am not," said Diadrelu heavily.

Pazel jumped again. "What do you mean, Dri?"

Diadrelu's eyes were downcast. "The clan voted to annul my title and banish me from all debates, should I reveal our presence to one human more. Well, I have done so today, for I believe as you do that this evil must be stopped. They will not kill me, perhaps, but they will not follow me either. Taliktrum must lead them now, if he can."

Her look was very grim. Then suddenly she raised her head and laughed-a lovely, musical laugh from a woman so often burdened with responsibility. "I begged them to call me Dri," she said. "Just Dri, as my brother used to. Perhaps now they will listen!"

Ramachni sighed. "At the very least I hope you will listen, Hercуl. No better friend could you have hoped for. Just think: one word to Rose from any of us and all her people will be killed. This woman trusts you not just with her life, but with those of her whole clan. Be at least as brave."

Hercуl looked taken aback: he had never been lectured by Ramachni before. He drew a deep breath, then stood and bowed stiffly to Diadrelu.

"Forgive me, lady," he said. "My burns come close to blinding me. You saved my life: I am your grateful servant."

"Be instead my comrade in arms," said Diadrelu quietly.

"I have an even better idea," said Eberzam Isiq. "You five were chosen by the Red Wolf. I was not, though of course I will fight at your side. Whatever that spirit's reasons, you must honor its choice. You're all younger than I. Heed the instinct of an old campaigner. Swear an oath."

"What would you have us swear to, Admiral?" said Diadrelu.

Isiq began to speak-then held his tongue. His gaze swung from one face to another. He put out a hand and touched the silver chain peeking innocently from beneath the bandage on Thasha's neck, then shook his head in anger.

"It is not for me to tell you," he said. "My life has gone to glorify a lie. My Emperor is exposed as a villain; my doctor and oldest friend is his accomplice. The woman to whom I swore love has tried to kill me. Arqual stands for nothing, save plunder and the sword. All my faith has been in vain."

"Not all," said Ramachni. "Indeed, your faith is all that remains to you, Excellency. Can you not see it in these faces around you?"

"I see the faces of those I have wronged," said Isiq. "You tell them what to swear to, mage. And what to swear by."

"I would merely repeat the words you have just said in your heart."

Isiq looked up, startled, and met Ramachni's motionless gaze. After a moment he took a deep breath, walked to the gallery windows and lifted a curtain. Sunlight fell on his face.

"Swear on yourselves," he said. "That's all that occurs to me. Swear that no tie of nation or blood or belief will divide you, that you renounce them all for one another. Swear on the unity we have right now, for in days ahead I fear it will be tested."

They stood still, looking at one another. Blood? thought Pazel, as visions of his mother and Neda flashed before his eyes. But then he thought of Diadrelu. Yes, blood especially.

He stepped forward, feeling very young. He raised his scarred hand. "I'll swear to that," he said. "On my life, and yours."

As soon as he had spoken Diadrelu leaped upon the back of Isiq's reading chair. She placed her hand over her breast, and looked deliberately at Hercуl as she echoed Pazel's words.

"On my life, and yours."

Thasha, Neeps and Hercуl swore the same. Then Thasha went to her father and linked her arm through his. Ramachni stretched and flexed his claws.

"The Wolf will not let you forget such a promise," he said. "Indeed, you must be strong as iron yourselves, if you are to stand against Arunis and the conspirators, and the terrors of the Ruling Sea. The Nilstone cannot be destroyed-and you five cannot hope for rest until it is placed beyond the reach of evil. And now, Lady Dri, you must hide yourself."

"Why is that?" she asked, slipping behind Felthrup's basket.

"This is why," said Isiq, and swept back the curtains.

What a sight! The Chathrand had heeled round, and the city of Simjalla loomed to portside. The waves smashed against her seawall, so that her towers and temples and cedar groves seemed almost to rise out of the foam. Vessels of every land were ranged along her docks; in many places six or eight vessels lay side by side. Off to starboard, in deeper water, stood the greater gunships and trading vessels. Most striking of all were the Mzithrini Blodmels: sleek white warships, even their armored sides painted white, huge cannon sticking out like needles in all directions, and on their snow-white sails the red shooting stars of the Mzithrini flag.

"Eighteen ships," said Hercуl with awe. "An entire squadron."

Of course even the largest was but half the size of the Chathrand. But so many! Pazel could not help but shudder. There came the blood-drinkers, the coffin-worshippers, the ones whose cannonballs scalded men to death. Were they, too, not to be feared?

"That first is the Jistrolloq," said Isiq, peering through his telescope. "Two hundred guns. 'Twas she sank Maisa, sister-ship to the Chathrand. Your expectant groom Prince Falmurqat will be aboard her, Thasha."

"Let's spare him the bad news till he's ashore," muttered Neeps.

"None of us will go ashore tonight, certainly," said Hercуl, "nor will any of us sleep! For tomorrow at dawn the Templar monks will come for Thasha. She is to be drilled in her Mzithrini vows. And bathed, I think."

"Bathed}" cried Thasha. "What am I supposed to be, an infant?"

"An offering," said Hercуl. "And we have only tonight to discover a means of preventing it."

"Will someone be so kind as to draw me a bath?" said Ramachni. "I have learned to lick many things from my fur, but Volpek blood is not among them. Besides, it is warm here, and cold where I am bound."

"There is fresh water in the washroom," said Isiq.

"I'll do it," said Pazel.

He crossed the cabin to the Isiqs' private washroom. Inside he found a small porcelain basin and held it under the spigot of the freshwater cask. Only tonight, he thought.

As the water splashed into the basin a curious feeling stole over him: a feeling of golden joy, as if he had just remembered the happiest dream of his lifetime. He stood amazed and shaking. His breath came short.

"Land-boy, land-boy! Love you!"

"Klyst!"

Was that her face reflected in the basin, or his own? He shouted her name again, dizzy with pleasure and fright. Then a hand touched his arm. It was Thasha.

"What's wrong?" she said. "What's that word you shouted?"

Pazel struggled to speak, and failed. Thasha stepped into the washroom, closing the door behind her. She looked at him steadily.

"Something's happening to me," she said.

Pazel looked up quickly. "What do you mean? Are you ill?"

She shook her head. "Not at all. But I'm… changing. When I read that book I feel-different. Older."

He stood holding the basin, knowing she had more to say.

"It's a magical book," she said at last, fearfully. "Did I tell you that I first read about the Shaggat Ness and all his crimes in my Polylex?"

"You mentioned it. What about them?"

"Pazel, the thirteenth edition was printed before the Shaggat was born."

Their eyes met, and Pazel suddenly understood her fright.

"And it was written long before the Mzithrinis invented dragon's-egg shots," she went on. "But I read about them, too. It's impossible, but it's happening. The book is adding entries on its own. It's writing itself."

He stared at her. "Thasha, you have to tell Ramachni."

"I did," said Thasha, "and that's the strangest thing of all. He told me not to mention it to anyone. Not even Hercуl, nobody but-"

She broke off, unsettled, still looking him in the eye.

"I wanted to kiss you today," she said.

The water in the basin trembled.

"And I'm going to tell you the truth," said Thasha. "They don't want me to, but I will. Your father came aboard the Hemeddrin. After the battle with the Volpeks. It was he who led the freebooters' attack, out of the mist."

Pazel took a step toward her. "My father?"

"He didn't stay long. You were out cold. He just wanted to look at you, he said."

"I heard him," Pazel whispered. "I heard him say my name! Where did he go? Why didn't he wait?"

"He can't come near Ormael. He's a smuggler, Pazel. An enemy of the crown."

"But it's been nine years!" cried Pazel. "Didn't he say anything? Didn't he ask anyone to do something, tell me something?"

"I told him to write you a letter," said Thasha, her eyes bright. "He just waved me away."

"Nine years," Pazel repeated in a hollow voice.

They stood still. He looked at her bandaged neck, felt the leathery scar on his palm. Then Thasha put a hand on the back of his neck and reached for his lips with her own. And suddenly the shell in his chest was blazing, searing him with Klyst's jealousy. He turned his head away and pushed past her, avoiding her wounded gaze, slopping water onto the floor.

Ramachni splashed vigorously in the basin. He scrubbed his tail between his paws, doused his head, squirmed with delight. Even Pazel and Thasha were laughing by the time he leaped out and shook himself. But the effort exhausted him. He raised a weary paw, and Thasha gathered him into her arms.

"Now," he said, "my time is truly spent. Be good to one another, be fearless. And look for me when a darkness comes beyond today's imagining. Very well, Hercуl."

Everyone crowded into Thasha's sleeping cabin. As she rubbed the mage dry with her towel, Hercуl performed the ritual that opened the mariner's clock. There was a sharp, cold puff of air, and the sound of wind in a high place.

Then Ramachni spoke his last spell: the holding charm that would allow him to open the clock from within, one day. When he was finished, his tongue flicked once over Thasha's palm. He crawled into the dark tunnel mouth, then turned to look at them.

"Don't go," said Neeps desperately. "We can't fight them alone!"

"That is true," said Ramachni. "You cannot. But when were you ever alone? My part has not been so very great, after all. You have been saving one another since this ship left Etherhorde. You, Neeps, saved Pazel from prison in Uturphe, by your gift of eight gold. Pazel saved Hercуl from dying in the poorhouse. Hercуl and his countrymen saved Thasha, and Thasha saved us all from the fleshancs. And those are just a few examples. We have been struggling together since this ship left Etherhorde. Always together, and always, so far, without defeat."

"Or victory," said Diadrelu. "The Nilstone remains in that creature's hand."

Ramachni crawled farther into the darkness. When he looked back again they could see only his eyes, shining in the lamplight.

"Victory is a shadow on the horizon, and whether island or illusion you can only learn by sailing. Defeat, however-those reefs you may be certain of. They are real, they surround you. I say this not to frighten but because I cannot lie. And yet there is reason to be hopeful-even to rejoice. You are a clan now, and as Dri can tell you, a clan is a powerful thing."

"But we're losing the head of our clan," said Pazel. "And you're not just anyone. You're special."

"Not special enough," said Ramachni. "None of us are, alone."